Paper Wings
by procol harum
Summary: Now back in America, Doug finds himself torn between raising Clavo and helping an everchanging Tom. Except Tom keeps refusing it and soon Doug is slowly pushing him away. What changes are occuring and will Doug be able to help him before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

Okay, I know, I know: Another story. But this is the sequel to AFM, which people have been waiting for, so... Also, you should read Another Fine Mess to understand this story better. Oh, and, this story was mostly inspired by Paper Wing by Rise Against, but only the lyrics below... It's kinda confusing, and the story doesn't go in order of the lyrics, which aren't really even that important, but meh... So, hopefully you enjoy this XD

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

**_Paper Wings _by _Rise Against_**

_One last thing I beg you please_

_Just before you go_

_I've watched you fly on paper wings_

_Halfway around the world_

_Until they burned up in the atmosphere_

_Sent you spiraling down_

_We'll meet somewhere far from here_

_With no one else around_

_To catch you falling down_

_And I'm looking at you now_

_And I can't tell if you're laughing _

_Between each smile there's a tear in your eye_

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Damn it Tom, would you slow down already?" Doug called out, partly irritated and partly angered at his friend's actions. The entire drive to the hospital had been in silence, with Tom ignoring Doug whenever he had been spoken to. Doug had soon given up on talking to the younger man, although he would have been pretty good if Tom had just yelled at him to shut up already. At least then he knew that Tom still had the ability to speak. Or that he at least wanted to talk, anyways. Then again, Doug was never good when things became silent; he wasn't used to dealing silence. Once they had gotten to the hospital, Tom was no better off: He had unbuckled his seatbelt - Doug was actually pretty surprised to see that he had pulled his on – before Doug had found a parking spot, and had then bolted from the vehicle before the engine had finished its sputtering and the ignition had been cut dead completely. Doug had called after him, yet again annoyed, although more worried than angered now, and had hurried to escape the confines of the vehicle himself, sprinting after Tom like a marathon runner.

Doug had only been running for a few seconds when he was stopped by a sudden outburst of anger represented in the form of a blaring horn. He had only a second before he realized that the car would hit him if he didn't move, and quickly jumped out of the way. The horn blaring had just been a warning at him to move, and luckily he had, because the car had continued going without stopping. If Doug hadn't of moved, he would have been hit. He could have taken down the license plate number, but instead ignored his inner 'cop instincts' and turned his attention on finding Tom. The idiot driver could deal with his problem later when he actually hit somebody not as lucky as Doug had been. The officer just hoped that that somebody wouldn't be his just as idiotic friend wandering around the parking lot. Intent on not having that happen, he began to look around the parking lot and easily spotted the younger man heading towards the hospital. And, luckily for Doug, Tom had decided to head towards the entrance at a steady pace, and he didn't have to jog far before he had caught up with him. It was then that Tom finally decided to say something.

"I'm scared," Tom told Doug in a shaky voice and slowing his pace. He came to a complete stop and turned to look at the other man. "I mean, I'm afraid of what the doctors might find out, ya know?"

Doug had looked at Tom strangely, first surprised that he had spoken, then surprised at the choice of words he had chosen to let escape his mouth. He nodded slowly, though, understanding completely. "Yeah, of course, but you haven't passed out or anything, so it can't be _that _bad, right?"

Tom smiled slightly, wanting to agree with the older man. He hadn't passed out, at least that part was right, but he had felt light-headed earlier, and dizzy enough that he had thought he would. He didn't, though, and had decided not to say anything. He was too scared to say anything about how he was feeling, because he had a bad feeling in his gut as to why he felt so crappy. So he decided not to say anything about it. What hurt could a few more lies cause, anyways?

"Right," Tom agreed. "I actually do feel a bit better. Well, besides where it hurts like a bitch 'cause I'm bruised to hell and back."

Doug laughed, clapping Tom on the shoulder. "Yeah, you'll be fine in a few days, I bet. But you're still going to get checked out, so c'mon, or else I'll carry you in there."

Tom groaned slightly, then continued onwards, knowing full-well that if he didn't, Doug would do exactly what he said he would. And Tom didn't want to enter the hospital being treated like a child. He _was_ twenty-four, after-all. _Actually, _he thought with an inner smile, _I'm almost twenty-five._

"What?" Doug asked suddenly, and Tom glanced up at him with a confused look in his eye. "What do you mean what? I didn't say anything."

"You were smiling," Doug replied. "Just wondering why, because I don't think it's because you're happy about going to the hospital."

"Oh," Tom mumbled. He hadn't realized he had been smiling; Doug had, though. "Nothing, just thinking about something." Tom paused for a second, and then he spoke again, "And no, I don't wanna talk about it. Because it wasn't a bad thought, Doug. I mean, I smiled, didn't I?"

Tom continued walking towards the entrance, feet still clad in a dead man's boots hitting the pavement lightly as he went, creating a hollow tap-tap sound. Doug stared after him, wondering how Tom was always able to do that, because he didn't think he was _that _easy to read.

"You coming?" Tom asked, turning slightly to look at Doug, who now stood a few feet behind the younger man. "'Cause I'm not goin' in without you."

"Yeah, didn't think you would," Doug mumbled before walking after Tom, who didn't move another step until the other man was standing beside him. They were only a few steps from the door now, and Doug could see a few nurses and doctors hurrying around inside, pushing stretchers and wheelchairs, or talking to the patients sitting in the chairs lined against the wall near the door. He smiled slightly at how white it was in there, with the uniforms of both the doctors and nurses standing out in contrast against the duller shade of white that coated the walls, and the purples and blues of the furniture.

"Would you stop gawking at whatever you're gawking at," Tom spoke up harshly, breaking Doug out of his thoughts, "So that we can just go in and get this finished with? Or else I'm leaving."

"Uh-uh, Tommy, you can't leave," Doug replied, pulling his gaze away from an older man who was being pushed down the hallway in a wheelchair, his left leg encased in a light blue cast like a caterpillar in its cocoon before emerging as a butterfly.

"I don't have to," Tom replied suddenly with seriousness in his voice. "I mean, you can't make me go in there." Tom pointed towards the entrance, then stepped aside as the same older man Doug had seen previously was pushed through the entrance slowly by a younger man who was probably his son. He smiled gently at Tom, the corners of his mouth creasing as he did so, and Tom smiled back. No need to be rude to your elders, especially when they have no idea why you're in such a bad mood.

"Could you believe I got this in a motorcycle accident?" he asked Tom in a low, slightly aged voice and pointing at his leg. Then he began to laugh, with lungs that seemed to have lasted longer than his age.

"Really?" Tom replied, smiling again. Doug laughed, and then the younger man pushing the wheel chair did so as well. The only one who didn't laugh was Tom, and Doug could see that he wasn't really even smiling. Well, he was. Except the smile seemed fake. At least to Doug it did, because he knew Tom pretty well, and it wasn't hard to tell whether or not his facial features were correct and fully there.

"Yup," the older man replied, wiping at his eyes. Doug was pulled from his thoughts at this spoken word, and he quickly tore his eyes from Tom, who he had been staring at. He didn't need to be caught, because then he would have a hard time trying to explain why he was doing so. "Well, have a good day, goodbye," the man finished, and Doug muttered a quick goodbye as Tom waved his hand.

Then they were off again, a son pushing a father who thought he was much younger than he actually was.

"You okay?" Doug asked once they had disappeared behind a car, refocusing his attention on Tom once again. Except this time he wasn't staring like an idiot while random thoughts floated throughout his head. This time his gaze he had focused on the younger man was purely concern.

"Yeah, course I am," Tom replied, "Why? Did I wave wrong?" This last part was sarcasm, and Doug knew it. He would have laughed, too, if Tom hadn't sounded so harsh as well as sarcastic. And Doug knew pretty well what bitter sarcasm was like.

"No, just noticed something different about your smile," the older man replied. "Guess it doesn't matter, though, it might have just been your waving that threw me off, who knows?"

"Fuck you, Doug," Tom hissed with a sudden anger. "I mean, I'm sorry I don't feel like smiling, okay? I'm sorry that I don't find an old man with a cast on his leg amusing. And I'm sorry I ever went to El Salvador with you, because you shoulda just realized that she was dead! But no, you had to go find out for sure. So fuck you, and goodbye." Tom hissed the last word strongly, then turned away from the entrance, ready to leave. He would have, too, if Doug had not stopped him with a forceful grip on the shoulder.

"Get offa me," Tom hissed. "Now. Get the hell off me, Doug."

"Not until you tell me what the fuck your problem is," Doug answered with his own anger. His annoyance was gone, and his worry had burrowed away inside of him so that the anger could be let out in full force. He turned Tom around quickly so that they were now facing each other, and stared directly into the other man's eyes. He had expected to see hate and anger swimming around like fish underwater in Tom's gaze; instead he saw fear and pain, and he quickly let his hand fell, knowing that he had helped in bringing those feelings out. "I-I'm sorry, Tom," he muttered stupidly. "I shouldn't of grabbed you like that."

"Yeah?" Tom asked bitterly, his gaze darkening. "Next time just fuck off and leave me alone, alright?"

Tom spun around quickly, ignoring the pain that shot throughout his body like a wildfire. Maybe he did need the hospital, but right now he didn't care. He just wanted to get away from Doug and everybody else in the world. This time there was no grip on the shoulder to hold him back, and he quickly walked off, feet pounding against the pavement heavily.

"Tom, wait-!" Tom heard Doug call out, although he didn't really seem to notice. He had heard, but he had chosen to just ignore whatever came next. If Doug felt ignored, then maybe he would finally realize that Tom wanted to be left alone. If he didn't, then at least Tom could leave Doug alone, instead. And ignoring him seemed to be the best way to do so. So he kept walking through the parking lot, hopefully towards a road where he could catch a cab, not listening to anything that Dog continued to yell at him. _He was probably just offering me a ride or something like it, anyways,_ Tom thought. _Which doesn't matter because I'll have a ride soon, so just piss off. _He had wanted to turn around and shout the last part right at Doug, but he realized that that would show signs of hearing and listening to Doug, and that Tom did not want to do. So instead he muttered it under his breath, added Doug at the end, and quickened his pace. He knew that if he didn't get into a cab soon, then Doug would hop into his vehicle and follow him. He would probably even try to push him into it, as well, and Tom did not want to have to explain to anybody why his best friend was attempting to kidnap him. Or why it looked like he was, because how could you kidnap your best friend when you're really just trying to help him? Tom shook his head back and forth rapidly, trying to knock the thoughts out of his head: thinking was really to starting to hurt his head, and it was mostly because everything he was thinking was extremely confusing and made no sense at all. Finally all that was left in his mind were blank thoughts, an array of emptiness waiting for thoughts to be laid out, like an artist's canvas before they destroy it artistically.

Doug stared after Tom, confused at what had just happened. One moment Tom had been ignoring him, the next they were talking and laughing. Then there was the old man and his son, another conversation, and then the anger had come. After that, Tom was gone. It had happened so fast, as well, and that was why Doug was now standing at the entrance of a hospital with no reason for heading inside anytime soon. That would actually be a pretty stupid idea, now, because his reason for going inside had just stormed off in a rushed burst of anger and hate. _Actually,_ Doug thought, _that may have seemed like anger and hate, and I guess it was, but there was also pain there. _He thought about following Tom, but then realized that he should wait until the younger man had calmed down. Then he could have an easy conversation, and try to figure out what had just happened. Until then, though, Doug had a little boy to take care of. He wouldn't deal with Tom until tomorrow, because he would see him at work... if Tom even showed up. If he didn't, then Doug would track him down. But if Doug didn't get Clavo, go home, and find a babysitter for tomorrow, then _he_ would be the one not going into Jump Street Chapel tomorrow. So until tomorrow, he would just forget about everything that had just happened, let Tom calm down(probably drink his problems away), and figure out what he was going to do with Clavo. He wasn't entirely sure, yet, although he would have to figure it out soon. Doug pushed every thought about Tom out of his head, and instead started thinking about Clavo: where he would sleep, what he would eat, where he would get clothes for him, and a babysitter. There were probably more things to worry about, and this made Doug sigh in annoyance. He hadn't known what he was getting into before, but now he was beginning to realize exactly what that was: a ton of confusion and a major change in his life.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey Doug, you wanna come over later?" Tom asked out of the blue, startling Doug out of his thoughts. Not they were interesting, but he had found his paperwork boring and had instead dazed out and started daydreaming about making a bonfire out of said paperwork. It had been fairly amusing until Tom had come along. 

"Uh, what for?" Doug asked slowly, confused at the sudden question.

"I don't know," Tom replied, shrugging his shoulders. "We haven't really hung out much since we got back, just thought you'd wanna come over for a beer or somethin'."

"It's only been two weeks," Doug replied with a smile and then laughing. "And besides, I gotta watch Clavo now."

"Oh, okay," Tom replied quietly like a small child who'd been promised a toy yet never given one.

"Some other time?" Doug suggested, not wanting Tom to feel disappointed because of him. Although the younger man should know that Doug had more important responsibilities than sitting around and getting drunk. Not anymore, anyways; those days were over. "I just need a permanent sitter, first," he added quickly. He _did_ need a permanent sitter, although he hadn't planned on getting one anytime soon. He had wanted to help Clavo readjust to his new home first, and once he had settled in was when Doug figured it would be okay to bring in a babysitter. But not this soon. Telling Tom that was just a way making the younger feel better, and not feel like his best friend was abandoning him.

"Yeah, okay," Tom replied, "See ya later, huh?"

"You been to the hospital yet?" Doug asked quickly before Tom could leave. He had wanted to ask Tom this question all day, and now seemed as good a time as any to do so.

"I don't nee-" Tom started, but Doug cut him off, knowing full-well that Tom should have gone to the hospital. "You mighta-"

"I feel fine, Doug. Just drop it," Tom hissed harshly, glaring angrily at his friend. He didn't need Doug Penhall playing mother hen for him.

"What about your ribs?" Doug asked stupidly. It wasn't exactly the worst injury Tom could have gotten...

"Feeling better," Tom replied, sounding relieved. He had expected Doug to ask him a more serious question, about an 'injury' that could prove to be more serious than a few bruised ribs. "They weren't broken, Doug," he added. "They woulda hurt a lot more if they were. Now goodbye."

"Tommy, wait-"

Except Tom was already going, and was halfway to the door. He didn't respond to Doug, because once again he felt that ignoring him would be the best thing. He wasn't even sure why he had invited him over anymore, because he should have known that Doug would be too busy to do anything with him. He stepped outside, shivering slightly at the temperature change, but glad for the cool breeze blowing against his face. He had started feeling warm inside the chapel, and out here he found himself cooling down... In more ways than one. He hadn't wanted to snap at Doug, but it had all just come pouring out, and once it had started, he had been unable to stop. This seemed to be a usual occurrence nowadays, and Tom was starting to scare himself.

"Stupid Doug and his stupid hospital," Tom suddenly muttered under his breath, trying to blame his problems on somebody else. "I don't need a stupid hospital, and I definitely don't need Doug. I can go home and get drunk by myself. It'll be more fun that way, without being told-"

"Talking to yourself's a major sign of mental issues, ya know."

"Go away Doug," Tom muttered harshly, quickening his pace. Doug did the same, though, and soon the two were walking side by side, Doug catching up easily whenever Tom got ahead.

"Damn it Tom, I followed you out here for a reason," Doug suddenly said, anger evident in his tone. He wasn't mad at Tom specifically, just at the way he was acting. Because the mood swings had become frequent; he had become distant and seemed to ignore everybody whenever he found reason to; all in all, Tom Hanson had become a changed man, one that Doug did not recognize, and it was starting to scare him.

"Yeah, and why's that?" Tom snapped, stopping suddenly and turning to face the older man. "To tell me that I've been a bitch and that I should just get over myself? Because you already tried that once, Doug, and it didn't work!"

"You don't need to yell, man, I'm standing right here," Doug replied, trying to lighten the mood. "And no, that's not why I'm here. Judy overeheard us inside, and she says she can watch Clavo tonight."

"Oh, Tom mumbled, slightly embarrassed at snapping at Doug for no reason. "Sorry, then."

"Yeah, well, it's normal," Doug muttered, mostly to himself. He watched Tom's eyes darken as he said it, although nothing was spoken against it. Tom knew it was true, and was angered at Doug for realizing it and speaking it aloud. He found he couldn't figure out anything to say against, it, however, and said nothing. Doug chose this moment of silence to speak out, though, and casually asked, as if nothing had happened, "You still up for that drink you were muttering about?"

"I don't need you to come outta pity," Tom replied quickly and harshly, not catching on to Doug's attempt at forgetting anything had happened. Or maybe he had, and decided he wasn't going to let Doug get away with it.

"It's not pity, man, trust me. I haven't had one moment to myself since getting Clavo, and I could really use a break. And you could too."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tom asked harshly, clinging quickly to the last sentence spoken and forgetting about the rest. The brown in his eyes once again dulled to a darker, lifeless shade, anger pure and evident.

"You just don't look too good," Doug replied, not phased by the anger. He was pretty used to it now. "I mean, you went straight back to work, and you haven't really stopped since. Just thought you could use a break. You know, sit down, get drunk, watch some tv. That's all I meant."

"Oh," Tom muttered, not embarrassed this time, only angry at himself for jumping to the stupid conclusion that Doug had meant something other than what he had, even when Tom himself had no idea what else the older man could have meant. "Well, yeah, okay, guess you can still come over," he agreed slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck. He pulled his hand away and let it fall to his side as he glanced up at Doug, another 'barely there' smile that didn't reach his eyes forming. "But you gotta bring the beer."

"What?" Doug asked, surprised, forgetting about Tom and his fake smiles. "So that's it, huh? You're only using me to get beer?"

Tom smiled again, and this time Doug noticed that it wasn't really even there. It was all a show, and Tom was only putting it on to try and fake his way into being okay. Doug didn't know all of it, and he had no clue about the latter issues, but he did know that when Tom smiled, it was a lie. And he was determined to figure out why his friend was putting on a mask and hiding all of his pain behind it.

By the way," Doug said, breaking through the silence. "Shift's not done for another hour. You better get back inside before Fuller notices you tried to leave early."

You too," Tom replied quickly, now afraid he was going to get in trouble with Fuller. And that was the one person you never wanted to get into trouble with.

"I don't have my coat, man, why would I leave without it?"

"Well I don't have mine, either," Tom snapped, although relief was evident in his voice.

You should," Doug replied in a concerned tone. "You could get sick, ya know?"

"Yeah, whatever," Tom muttered, shrugging his shoulders and turning back in the direction of the chapel. He didn't need Doug preaching him on getting sick when the other man wasn't wearing a coat, either, and could get just as sick. He also knew that there was no way he would get away from work early without Doug stopping him. "Let's just go back inside, okay?"

"Don't whatever me, Hanson," Doug hissed harshly, grabbing Tom's arm to prevent him from walking away. And this time he didn't care how much he hurt the younger man, because he had to make Tom listen somehow. And this was the only way of doing so without him walking away in another burst of anger. "My promise to keep you safe, you remember that, don't you?"

Tom pulled at his arm, trying to break free of the grip, but Doug only strengthened his hold. Tom wasn't going to get away this time. "Do you?" the older man asked again, only this time more slowly, his voice cold.

"Doug, c'mon, just-just let go of me," Tom pleaded, his voice low and shaking. "Please you-"

"Do you?" Doug repeated; he wasn't letting go until Tom answered. And even then, not until Tom had replied in some way that, yes, he did remember Doug's promise.

"Yes!" Tom yelled out angrily, slowly breaking as Doug continued to hold him, to _hurt _him. Because he had thought that Doug was his best friend, and that he would never hurt him. Except he was now, and that was making Tom Hanson slowly break apart even more on the inside. "I remember your stupid promise, now get the hell offa me!" Tears had formed in Tom's eyes now, and his voice broke as he yelled at Doug, his demand full of fear and not the anger he had been aiming for.

"Nuh-uh, Tommy, not 'til you listen," Doug replied, deciding that letting go of Tom now would only give the younger man a means of escaping. And if that happened, then Doug would never be able to get Tom to listen to him. "I don't wanna hurt you, man, I just want you to _listen_."

"I will," Tom replied. "I swear I will, just please, let go of me, okay?"

Doug's hand loosened, yet still stayed wrapped around the thinner forearm. He wasn't going to let go until Tom had listened... "That promise I made, just 'cause I made it back in El Salvador, that doesn't mean it stayed there. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I do," Tom mumbled, glancing down at the ground. He remembered the promise, alright, and he also remembered how quickly it had been broken. He didn't want Doug knowing that, though, until he was free and was able to get away quickly.

"Okay, good," Doug replied calmly, letting his arm fall to rest beside him. "Yeah, okay. I just care about you, that's all. And I just wanted you to know that."

"I already have a mother," Tom muttered under his breath. "And I told you; I'm fine. F-I-N-E. FINE!"

Doug stepped back at the harshness of Tom's words, surprised at how loud he had decided to declare his being fine. "Yeah, I got it," he replied regardless, knowing that he would probably just anger the younger man further, but far past caring. He had had enough of Tom's attitude, and he honestly didn't care what he did. If Tom wasn't going to accept his help, than that was his problem, not Doug's. "And I already knew how to spell fine," he added slowly, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Yeah, well, good for you," Tom spat. "But I was trying to get you to shut up and leave me alone. Shoulda known it wouldn't work, considering how big your mouth is. You never can keep it shut, can you?"

"Your the one with the big mouth, Hanson. I mean, I try to help you out, and all you can do is bite my head off. And I'm sick of it, and right now, I'm sick of you."

"Good," Tom replied harshly. "'Cause I'm sick of you too. And you can tell Fuller I don't give a fuck about the last hour, okay? Hell, he can fire me if he wants, I don't care."

"Tom, you don't mean that," Doug replied quickly, all anger gone from his voice. "Why don't you just come back inside. Than we can go and get that beer later, and you can let your stress out then."

"I'd rather get a beer now, thanks."

"Oh, c'mon Tom, you can't solve all your problems with alcohol."

"You wanna come with me and watch me do it?" Tom asked bitterly, glaring angrily at Doug. "And besides, I don't even drink that much."

"When you do, it's a hell of a lot, though, isn't it?" Doug found the anger seeping back into his words, and did nothing to stop it. He needed Tom to hear the truth before he did something that could get him hurt... or worse. "So you tell me, Tommy," he continued when Tom said nothing. "You tell me what the hell the difference between drinking all the time, every day, and drinking a shit load, maybe once , twice a week, is."

"Fuck off," Tom muttered, gluing his gaze to the cement below, slightly afraid of looking at Doug. Because he was afraid of what he would find swimming around in Doug's eyes like a school of fish: hate, anger, disappointment... Any number of emotions that Tom did not want directed towards him.

"No," Doug replied, and Tom was surprised that he sounded slightly hurt. Still angry, but also hurt. Except he refused to admit that he was the reason behind his friend's hurt. "C'mon, man, I care about you," Doug continued when Tom once again fell into a state of silence. It seemed he could only talk when he was arguing against Doug's words or biting his head off, all a way of pushing the older man away. "I just don't want you getting hurt."

"It's a little late for that," Tom snapped bitterly, raising his head and staring straight into Doug's own gaze, no longer afraid of the emotions he would find taking up refuge inside the brown depths. Because he now had his own anger and hate swimming in his eyes, ready to fight fire with fire. He was tired of Doug treating him like a child and trying to protect him when Tom was more capable of doing so himself. "By the way, Doug," Tom added slowly, a smile that was anything but fake on his face – although on Tom's face it seemed fake, and scared the hell out of Doug. "That promised you made to keep me safe, that ended when they raped me." With that said, he turned and once again hurried off, a sight that was becoming all too familiar for Doug. He would have tried stopping the younger man, too, but he was too shocked at what had just happened to do anything but stare at the younger man's back as he left the parking lot, jacket, car, and work forgotten. And this time the words had sunk in, engulfing Doug in a wave of guilt and understanding at the same time: He hadn't protected Tom, had he? He had made that promise yet he had been unable to keep it. He couldn't even remember if the promise had been spoken before or after the rape, but considering that _that_ had happened more than once, Doug was willing to admit that he must have done so afterwards - after one rape, anyways... and before another. What, then, gave him the right to keep the promise afterwards? He had already proved that he was incapable of holding leverage on it. So what gave him the right?

Another glance at Tom as he disappeared around the corner gave Doug the only answer he needed: Tom. Tom Hanson was his reason, because he had to prove that he was capable of protecting him; he had to make up for failing on the promise before by keeping it and doing anything possible to make sure Tom was safe from there on out. Because Doug had failed once, and he was determined not to do it again. And if he didn't stop Tom soon, then he was afraid he would end up with a repeat of what had happened two weeks previously.

_Yeah I'm evil..._

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry for the late update, in short: writer's block, flu, depression... will try to update sooner, though, but I'm not sure if that will happen... erm ignore any mistakes, my vision is screwing up on me and it hurts to type so any mistakes are purely my fault... do feel free to tell me if you see any though so they can be fixed... I still own nothing..._

_----_

Doug opened his eyes in surprise, slowly trying to rid his mind and vision of a sleep-induced fog. After several seconds of blinking it worked and he could see again. Rubbing at his eyes now to get rid of the remaining remnants of sleep, he turned his gaze to the floor, where his alarm clock sat. It had been dropped there carelessly a few weeks ago when Doug realized he had been sleeping on the couch, and having his alarm clock going off in his room had become an annoying task. Not that he took sleeping refuge in his bedroom anymore, so he had just left things as they were. At least already having undergone the slight changes had made welcoming the six-year old boy into his home a lot easier, and hadn't had to do much to get him set up in the bedroom – there was already a bed, and Clavo had only a few possessions that he had brought home: some clothing, mostly t-shirts and shorts, and the toy set he had enjoyed playing with so much back home, having had not much else to do. But that was it, and Doug had decided once he was able to, he and Clavo were going shopping. The blurred numbering on the alarm swam before his eyes like a sunset, wavering and red and just barely in focus, and he had to blink a few times to regain focus of the time: 3.07am. If the alarm hadn't woken him up, then what the hell had? A repetition of quick, hollowed knocks gave him the answer.

"This better be an emergency," he muttered under his breath as he sat up on the couch, glancing towards the bedroom door to ensure Clavo was still asleep. A slight glimpse of the bed and a lump on top gave him hope that he was, or that he was at least still in bed. He would make sure after cutting off the knocks coming from his door more quickly now, trying to gain the attention of the occupant inside by whichever means possible, even if it meant waking up everybody in the building as well, it seemed like. He stood in a hurry, stretched, then headed to the door at a quickened pace, pulling open the door without any second thoughts, and came face to fist – almost – with the person who had awoken home.

"Tom?" Doug asked in surprise as the younger man lowered his arm quickly and Doug was able to see his face instead."It's 3.00am."

"Yeah, I know," Tom muttered. "I'm sorry, I just didn't want to, uh, be alone, ya know?" Tom finished speaking and began to rub the back of his neck lightly.

"Damn it," Doug muttered, although he wasn't mad, just worried. And then he noticed the blotch of red forming on the right side of Tom's face, dripping down and staining the collar of his jacket. "You're bleeding, Tom – what the hell happened?"

"I am?" Tom replied, his voice tinged with amused surprise. "I mean, I guess, you know, I guess I would be, or somethin', right?" Tom began slurring his words as he spoke, his arm falling away from his neck to hang at his side instead.

"Are you drunk?" Doug asked, disbelief forming inside the worry.

"I, I," Tom mumbled, afraid to admit that he was, in fact, drunk. "I'll just go,' he muttered instead. "Sorry for waking-"

"Damn it, Tom," Doug muttered, reaching out to grab hold of the other man's arm, pulling him inside the apartment roughly and shutting the door.

"Doug, let go," Tom mumbled, pulling at his arm. Doug frowned and quickly let go. "Sorry Tommy, I just didn't want you to leave. You came here for a reason, and I just want to know what that is."

"It doesn't matter," Tom mumbled. "I-I should just go, okay?"

"No," Doug replied roughly. "Just, uh, just sit down, alright? We'll talk in a minute, I just want to make sure Clavo is alright."

Tom began nodding his head left and right, but Doug wouldn't have it. "Please, Tommy, just sit. Then you can you tell me what's going on, okay?"

"I don't, it's noth-" Tom cut off as a wave of dizziness engulfed him like a fire, blurring his vision and making him fall forward, letting out a moan as he went. Doug cursed and moved quickly, catching Tom by the left arm before he hit ground, then quickly and easily moving him onto the couch. "I'm okay," Tom replied slowly as the dizziness passed. "Just, just tired is all."

"Like hell you are," Doug muttered. Tom groaned in pain as a sharp pain shot throughout his abdomen like he had been stabbed and he nearly screamed because it hurt that much. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes and muttered something incoherent. A bead of water escaped, slowly trailing down his cheek, leaving a path of moisture.

"Tommy, what's wrong?" Doug asked, thoughts of Clavo going to the back of his mind as Tom clutched at his stomach. "You're going to the damn hospital," he hissed immediately, and this time he wouldn't let Tom walk away. But Tom heard none of this, his mind focused only on the pain, all noises around him becoming a faint blur. Then everything was blurring, turning into a blackened haze, and then he was doubled sideways on Doug's couch, unconscious.

The memory slowly faded away as Doug watched Tom lying there, unsure of what to do. Tom moaned, then shook, and Doug was going for the phone. But then the memory was entirely gone, once more tucked away into the farthest closets of his mind where so many other memories resided – the ones that were painful and occasionally remembered, but usually forgotten because Doug didn't want to see them. He didn't want Tom showing up at his door like that again, yet he knew there was a possibility it could happen. Doug had gotten Tom to the hospital that night, but the doctors had found no cause for the abdominal pain. A few cracked ribs were found, and a lot of bruises, along with the new cut on Tom's cheek he refused to talk about. It hadn't needed stitches, which Tom was grateful for, but still looked pretty terrible. The doctors had also wanted to run tests for STD's but Tom had refused immediately, claiming that there was no reason to do so. Doug had tried changing his mind, but that had been hopeless. Tom had just said no once more, then left. Doug had apologized to the doctors, who had said they understood – Doug knew they never would – and Doug had nodded before quickly following Tom. He was the one who had driven them there, after all.

Except now Tom was walking away again, and Doug made no move to stop him. He knew he should, because Tom could into any kind of trouble in the state he was in, but Doug also needed to pick up Clavo. He figured Tom was a grown man and could take care of himself; Clavo was a four-year old kid, new to America, and could become easily upset if Doug weren't there on time. And if anything happened to Tom, then Doug would just have to deal with that when it happened – Clavo was more important right now and it wasn't like Tom wanted his help anyways.

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, first off: extremely sorry for the wait. Life is crap blah blah blah. And for not getting it up last weekend: too much freaking writing. My mind is always going all over the place and I can never keep my thoughts on one thing for that long. And this chapter is fairly longish. I was going to add more, but I figured it would probably be too much at one time and I don't want this all done at just seven or eight chapters. Plus I'm sick. Again. But that's not really new. But again, sorry for the wait. And this next thirty-thousand sentences(okay, just the rest of this paragraph) explains something about the state of this story, so... kinda important. I'm pretty confused as to what's happening with this damn story but I'll try... so as you all probably realize, the first chapter was after they had gotten back(from El Salvador). No confusion there. The second chapter, as stated, is two weeks after the first, give or take a day or two. Now, the third is where the confusion came to mind, but I'm sure I've gotten it sorted out now, or at least partially. So the third is a _flashback_, Doug's, of two weeks _before_. Which means after Tom had left he went to a bar, got drunk, stayed late, and got hurt. And that's all I'll say on that subject as to not give away any major plot ideas of the future. But yes, that was a flashback, and the end was, hey, hey, two weeks _after they got back_, alright? Hope you're still following me, and sorry it's taking a lot to explain. Now, this is kinda where I was confused, because now I have to fill in what happened to Tom two weeks previously(Doug's flashback: showing up late, newly hurtish). So, Tom left at the end of last chapter, right? Buut before we get into full details ha ha: first part of this chapter is Tom dreaming of a _small bit_ of what happened after leaving Doug at the hospital. Don't worry, I'll be explaining more later as well(teh mysterious cut, for instance). That's about it, and I suppose once this chapter is done, we'll be 'caught up' and then I can progress onwards into the future, which, yes, involves a ton more angsty Tom.

--

Tom entered the bar, not in the least surprised by the small number of occupants. That, and the fact that he stuck out amongst the crowd: a small group of large, rugged men sat at a table near the back while another group of less aggressive-looking men sat a t a table beside them. Both groups were talking amongst each other heatedly, and Tom flinched when of the larger of the second group slammed a bottle against the table's wooden surface. One of the men looked up towards him, seemingly sensing that they were being watched and Tom looked away quickly as the man's glare pierced throughout him as if he weren't truly existent in the room. He quickly moved towards the bar and sat down on one of the many vacant stools – only a man and woman sat at the bar as well. Tom glanced at them as he ordered a beer, noting that the woman seemed much younger than the man and that she was scantily clad in a tight leather skirt and a white tank top that barely covered her midriff. Tom smiled lightly, easily understanding the 'couple's' current 'relationship status'.

Tom himself was wearing what he normally wore: blue jeans, a shirt with only two buttons left undone, a white t-shirt barely visible underneath, and his beige overcoat. The boots he had grown accustomed to wearing unless unsuited for a case were on his feet, and he pretty was surprised that they still fit him.

"Hey!" A voice came from behind Tom and he turned slowly so as not to fall off of the stool in the process. The man who had caught him staring minutes earlier stood behind him, glaring angrily.

"Uh, hey," Tom muttered, swallowing lightly. This man – this _large _man – had decided to pursue Tom for staring. And that was because they had brought the attention upon themselves. Although Tom doubted that this man would listen to any reasonings he put forth.

"You were starin' at me and my friends," the man stated matter-of-factly, as if he had just discovered as new species of animal. Or just an 'annoying, nosy, human', in Tom's case. And for a guy who looked like his punches could break through a wall of bricks, being discovered did not seem to be a very good thing.

"Yeah," Tom agreed, deciding to go the easy route and explain things up front and quickly before he found himself with a broken nose. "I just got into the bar and you guys were sitting there. And slamming things around."

"And you couldn't mind your own damn business?" the man snapped and Tom pushed himself off of the stool, not in the mood for taking crap. If this guy wouldn't follow along on Tom's easy route, then Tom would switch himself over into the man's hardened one. And, if need be, stand his ground and fight. "I could have," the officer hissed sharply, stepping closer to the man. "But you guys were making a hell of a lot of noise. Sorry if it caught my damn attention!"

Tom thought the man was going to punch him. Instead the man's lips twitched and he smirked grimly at the young officer. The features of his face softened. "You got a lot of fuckin' courage, kid," he said. "If I were you I woulda run straight outta this bar right after I saw me."

"Well," Tom spoke slowly, knowing that on any other day, at any other time where he wasn't tired of being pushed around, he just might have run. But not today: he _was _tired of being pushed around and treated like a kid, and running was not an option. "I just don't take shit from anybody. And I don't run away from my problems."

"Next time you should," the man replied. Tom let out a small laugh at this: it was if the man knew his true feelings, knew that inside his mind had screamed at him to run, to just get the hell out of there. And yeah, next time, he probably would so. "I was about ready to knock your lights out for being a nosy little shit."

"You could have."

"Yeah," the man replied, confused at the young man's suggestion. "You sayin' you actually want me to hit you?" The man's brow furrowed, stark creases forming heavily in the tanned skin.

Tom laughed at the man before responding, only now understanding what he had just implied in his his poor choice of words: "I never want somebody to punch my lights out; I was just saying you could have."

Tom awoke suddenly, the man in the leather jacket and tattered blue jeans fading away as consciousness tugged at his mind, trying to pull him back into the world of realistic happenings in the proper frame of time and not in that of two weeks previously. A sharp ringing brought him back into reality completely -- that was probably what had awoken him in the first place -- and he turned his head to the side, staring dumbly at the owner of the noise. His phone seemed to stare back at him, the shrill ringing seeming to call out, "Answer me, answer me." And he obeyed: with a small grunt of pain as feeling shot back into his body and sleep began to leave, he turned and grabbed the receiver, pulling it away from its cradle and giving into its demand. "Hello?" he mumbled into the phone, a sleep induced fog still trying to force its way out of his mind.

"Tom?" Doug's voice floated through the phone, penetrating the fog clouded over Tom's mind, vanquishing sleep into the darker depths. Tom could think now, or at least think better – coffee would help fully crank the gears into motion – and that was enough for him to make his next set of words coherent: "Why are you calling?" Tom turned his head towards his alarm clock, staring blankly at the numbers glaring angrily back at him: 12.45.

"You know what time it is?" Doug questioned as if reading Tom's train of thoughts as his gaze slowly flitted away from the red numbering towards his window. Sunlight filtered in through the drawn blinds heavily, leaving a hazy shadow on the carpet below. "Uh, quarter to one," Tom answered. "And unless we're stuck in some weird sun phase, I'm guessing it's pm, not am?"

"Bingo!" Doug called out joyously as if Tom had been playing -- and won -- the lottery. "So what, you just waking up now?"

"Maybe." Tom yawned as he spoke, laughing lightly as Doug began to on the other end. "Okay, yeah. Please tell me we aren't supposed to be at work today."

"Actually, I _am_ at work," Doug admitted. "You, though, are not. And Fuller is pretty pissed."

"Oh shit." Tom moaned, glaring angrily at his clock. The numbers had changed, now reading 12.57, and he realized that he could not blame his over-sleeping on a frozen clock.

Doug began laughing heavily and Tom groaned angrily before muttering, "Me sleeping this late is not funny, Doug. Fuller's gonna fucking kill me." Fear had seeped into Tom's tone at the thought of facing an angry captain for being over five hours late and he gulped heavily. "Oh shit Doug," he mumbled, suddenly feeling very nauseous.

"Whoah, calm down," Doug replied quickly, uneasily, as the fear in Tom's voice became clear in his mind. "You're not, you're not late." Doug stumbled over his words as his joke became less funny. "It was, it was a joke, Tom. No work today. You're not late, okay?"

"Don't fuck with me Doug. I know you're just tryin' to get me to stay home."

"What?" Doug questioned in a strangled tone."Why would I do that?"

"Because I freaked about facing Fuller. And now you think I can just stay home because, hey, you were just joking, right? Then, then you can go tell Fuller that I'm sick."

"No!" Doug cried out uneasily, not wanting Tom to try hurrying to get the chapel when there was no need for it. "I'm serious, Tommy – I was joking, alright? There is seriously no work today. Check your calender; it's a Saturday."

"You are joking," Tom mumbled quietly. "Damn it Doug, why would you do that?"

"Because I always do," Doug offered with a small laugh. "I'm sorry Tom; I didn't know you would take it seriously. I mean, I thought you would know it was Saturday."

Tom let out a small laugh although he found the situation anything but funny. He just knew that Doug would never believe him unless he thought that Tom though the situation was as funny as he did. "Yeah, guess that's something I should know, huh?"

"Well, maybe."

"Yeah..." Tom trailed off as another yawn escaped closed lips. "So, uh, why are you calling anyways?"

"Because I thought we were gonna go to the movies today, remember?"

"Remember what? I don't remember anything about movies, Doug."

"What did you do?" Doug asked with a small laugh. "Get amnesia? I mean, you slept this late, which means you were either dead tired, or you got knocked in the head pretty hard."

"No," Tom mumbled. "Just tired is all. And I probably would have slept longer if you hadn't called."

"Right, well, movies."

"I don't remember anything about going to the movies, Doug," Tom mumbled wearily, not feeling up to getting out of bed.

"Yeah," Doug replied, as if that explained everything. "I asked you on Monday if you would go with me and Clavo. To make up for that beer I missed?"

"Oh, right," Tom agreed, although he really couldn't remember anything that had happened before the previous day. "Sure, yeah, I just gotta get dressed first. And shower."

"You mean shower and dress?"

"What?" Tom muttered, yawning again and rubbing at his eyes. "Oh yeah, that. Gotta shower first. Just be here by 1.30, alright?"

"Yeah, okay," Doug mumbled, worried at how tired and worn-out Tom was sounding. "1.30. I'll be there."

"Alright, bye," Tom replied, pushing the phone back into its resting place before Doug had had a chance to reply. The truth was, Tom felt like crap: he was tired and felt ready to throw up, yet he had slept well over twelve hours and there was nothing he could think of that would be making him feel so sick. Shrugging it off as too much sleep although a nagging voice in his mind was telling him that it was worse than that, he pushed himself off of the bed slowly, a sudden dizziness encompassing his being and nearly making him fall forwards. Mumbling a few choice swear words under his breath, Tom made his way towards the kitchen and coffee: he figured that all he needed was the caffeine and a hot shower to wake him up completely and get rid of the unexplained sick feeling he was still set on blaming on oversleeping. Because blaming it on that seemed a much better thing than to find out that he really was sick.

--

And yeah... anybody know any movies that played then? Or what year this would even be? It's season 4, so if anyone could help me out...

**TBC...**


End file.
